Roland remained silent for several long moments.
Then—
he exhaled.
"...Set course south."
The pilot blinked.
"...Sir?"
Roland's expression became resolute.
"You heard the order."
A brief pause.
"South."
The pilot swallowed.
"...Yes, Commander."
He turned back toward the controls.
Runes ignited beneath his hands.
The enchanted engines responded with a deep, thunderous roar.
Slowly—
the massive Imperial warship altered its course.
Turning away from the Holy Empire—
and toward the vast southern wilderness.
Toward the fading trail of the one they had failed to kill.
Far to the east—
beyond Blackwater—
beyond the scorched coastline—
lay the Land of Greywater.
A nation of winding rivers, vast marshlands, and sprawling waterways that stretched farther than the eye could see.
Within its borders stood the bustling city of Gomor.
The afternoon sun shone brightly overhead, bathing the city in warm golden light.
Merchants filled the lively streets, their voices blending into a constant hum of trade and conversation.
Horse-drawn and enchanted motor carriages rolled steadily across the broad stone roads.
High above the rooftops, majestic airships drifted gracefully through the sky, slowly making their way toward the distant sky port.
Near the heart of the city—
stood the **Spatial Port**.
An enormous complex constructed from pristine white stone, its towering walls engraved with countless glowing runes that pulsed faintly with mana.
Massive teleportation circles were carved into the polished floor, each one permanently linked to another Spatial Port somewhere across the continent.
Travelers arrived in brilliant flashes of light.
Others vanished just as quickly, disappearing toward distant kingdoms.
Uniformed officials carefully inspected travel permits.
Court mages continuously monitored and maintained the ancient formations.
The endless flow of arrivals and departures never ceased.
At the entrance to the Spatial Port—
two figures walked side by side.
Lady Xiomara lazily smoked a cigarette, a long katana resting comfortably against her waist.
Beside her strode the brown-haired mage.
His staff rested casually across one shoulder as he looked around the bustling port with obvious relief.
"...Finally."
He stretched his arms overhead with a satisfied groan.
"We made it."
Xiomara took another slow drag from her cigarette.
Then exhaled a thin stream of smoke toward the bright afternoon sky.
"...Took long enough."
The mage glanced sideways at her.
"You're the one who insisted on walking."
She merely shrugged.
"I don't like riding those flying tubs."
"They shake too much."
"They're perfectly stable."
"They're still annoying."
The mage let out a long sigh.
"...You're impossible."
A faint smirk tugged at Xiomara's lips.
"So I've been told."
The two continued toward the exit at an unhurried pace.
The mage scratched the back of his cheek.
"So..."
"...Where to now?"
Xiomara answered without so much as glancing at him.
"Home."
He blinked.
"...That's it?"
"What else?"
"I don't know."
He gave a small shrug.
"I figured you'd report what happened to the Count."
She let out a quiet snort.
"Report to who?"
"The brat escaped."
"The vampire escaped."
"Blackwater is still standing."
She flicked the ash from her cigarette with practiced ease.
"Seems pretty straightforward."
The mage chuckled awkwardly.
"...When you put it like that..."
Xiomara's gaze drifted toward the towering airships preparing for departure in the distance.
"...Besides."
"The entire continent probably already knows by now."
"No point repeating it."
The mage nodded slowly.
"...Guess you're right."
She didn't bother looking at him.
"Suit yourself."
Just then—
a sleek black motor carriage rolled to a smooth stop before the entrance.
Its enchanted engine emitted a soft magical hum before gradually falling silent.
The side door clicked open automatically.
Without the slightest hesitation—
Xiomara walked toward it.
The mage blinked in surprise.
"...You called one?"
Xiomara flicked the last of her cigarette onto the stone pavement before crushing it beneath her heel.
"I don't feel like walking anymore."
The mage stared at her.
A long silence followed.
Then—
"...You made me walk all the way here."
She paused with one foot already inside the carriage.
"Yeah."
"You're the one who said walking builds character."
"It does."
The mage pointed accusingly at her.
"And now you're taking a carriage!"
She looked at him as though the answer should have been painfully obvious.
"...I've built enough character for today."
The corner of her mouth lifted ever so slightly.
The mage's eye twitched.
"...That's not how that works."
Xiomara simply shrugged.
"Says who?"
Without waiting for a response—
she stepped inside the carriage.
The mage remained standing there for several long seconds.
Then he let out a weary sigh.
"...Unbelievable."
Xiomara lowered the window just enough to glance at him.
"Aren't you leaving?"
The mage adjusted the staff resting across his shoulder.
"I am."
He pointed toward the northern district.
"The Mage Tower is that way."
"I'll head there first."
Xiomara gave him a lazy nod.
"Have fun."
The mage laughed helplessly.
"I somehow doubt I will."
He turned and began walking away.
After only a few steps—
he stopped.
Then glanced back over one shoulder.
"...Take care of yourself."
Xiomara waved him off without even turning her head.
"You too."
The mage smiled faintly.
Then disappeared into the bustling streets, quickly swallowed by the sea of merchants, travelers, and passing carriages.
Xiomara watched him leave for only a brief moment.
Then she leaned back into the carriage's comfortable seat.
The door slid shut with a soft click.
A moment later—
the enchanted motor carriage glided smoothly away from the Spatial Port.
Its destination—
the Count's estate.